It was off
Martino Road on the corner of Gauthier. She knew the land well, but perhaps she
didn’t. It was past city limits and the people of Caruso don’t associate with
the people of Curran.
She knew
the land well. She didn’t know it lied in Nagy. But no one knew of Nagy. And
neither did she.
She slipped
out of her house one day when she had the place to herself. They’ll never know how long I’ve been gone
and where I wandered off to, she thought. They don’t need to know. They’d only be worried. She stuffed a
piece of paper into her pocket, tied her shoes, and went down the steps, being
sure to keep quiet as not wake her neighbors that lived downstairs.
Leaving the
apartment, she began to walk. She walked, she strolled, she roamed, and she
dodged the cars on the edge of the road. She walked until her feet reached mud
and the pavement stopped. Several miles, though it’s hard to say how many. Her
foot sank into the earth and caught her by surprise. “Am I still in Caruso?”
She wondered. “Curran? But I’ve never heard of Martino Road or Gauthier
Avenue.” She didn’t stop; she ventured on.
She began
to fall into a rhythm as she walked: something she hadn’t choreographed but
rather something that matched the voice of the wind and the tumble of her
thoughts. Curious thoughts that never stopped to rest or disrupt the consistent
beat.
Dogwoods, elms, spruces, poplars.
Velvet grass.
Wildflowers.
Green.
Completely monochromatic with shy
peaks and greetings from dandelions. And the sienna path she walked on.
So much of one color, but where is
the gray? Where is the fog, the smog, and the screech of tires? The blinking
red and yellow headlights? The glint of stained glass windows from the church?
The silent roar of conversations: of whispers, topics, and controversy? Where
is the cacophony of busy lives?
She couldn’t fathom this peace.
This silence. A silence in which she could hear nothing but herself and the
natural sounds that circled and danced around her.
And she couldn’t help but smile.
Smile, twist her head, and breathe the same breath the wind used to sing.
“Couldn’t be Curran,” she thought and then chuckled to herself. “Definitely too
peaceful.” She’d never been to Curran, the neighboring town to her home of
Caruso. She only heard the stories of violent actions: of robberies and murders
and injustice. The people of Curran were selfish and cutthroat. Inconsiderate,
greedy, yet urban just as Caruso is.
But nothing bad ever happened in
Caruso. Crime never found its way. It was always diverted to Curran. Caruso is
safe. It’s secure, friendly, and yet always gray with the smog of the city
blanketing the area. “The people of Caruso bring color to the community,”
everyone had always said and agreed. And how they all hated Curran because of
it.
The rhythm she fell into never
seemed to veer off-track, even though her thoughts certainly had.
Walking.
Thinking.
Venturing.
Pondering.
Exploring.
Contemplating.
“…Hello?”
Her rhythm finally shattered,
quickly stopped by the voice of another. For a moment, there was complete silence.
She was in a daze until she realized there was someone before her. Another
girl, probably the same age as her. Short in stature with an intimidating face.
She had a sense of confidence and authority in her voice that cut through the
gentle wind. Her blonde hair swayed across her shoulder blades, as if the dance
it was doing softened her stare and diluted the navy waters that flooded and
colored her irises. Or maybe it was her thin frame that made her seem more
inviting: fragile, yet with an aura that could cut through dry ice.
“You seem a bit… lost.” The girl
cocked her head and placed her hands on her hips. “Like you’re not from around
here. Like you’ve never seen a poplar before or you’ve never walked on the
grass barefoot just because you could.”
“… I’m sorry?” The other girl
questioned. The spark of interest she had for this place became a flame kindled
by the words of the stranger. She mimicked the shorter girl, towering over her
with her hands now on her hips and staring down with eyes that matched the
dogwoods and bouncy, brown curls that sprung up and down with each word she
spoke and each thought she created. “Just because I come from Caruso doesn’t
mean I can’t explore this place.”
“Ah, Caruso, you say?” She shot
back.
“Yeah. Why, are you from Curran or
something?” The curious flame continued to grow with a passion for information,
but also for Caruso as well.
The blonde girl snickered.
“Honey,” she began. “Don’t even get
me started on that.”
“On what?” The girl of Caruso
questioned.
“Whatever silly battle you two
cities are involved with.”
“It’s not silly! People of Curran
are horrible, selfish, greedy people I don’t want to associate with. Simple as
that, really.”
“Okay. Then why are you here.”
“I’m not allowed to leave Caruso?
Maybe I just like adventure.”
“Oh no, certainly not. You are
allowed to explore.”
“Then that’s why I’m here.”
“But why here, specifically? There are several other dirt paths closer to
Caruso you could have ventured down. Why this one? Why so far away?”
The wanderer paused for a moment.
She had a distinct motivation and reason for traveling so far from home. She
moved her hand closer to her pocket, where she had stuffed the piece of paper
earlier. She pulled it out without thinking.
“I found this,” she said, smiling
and feeling accomplished for having a decent answer for the stranger. She
handed it to the blue-eyed girl.
“So you’re just going to give me
this?” she inquired. “You don’t even know where I’m from, hell you don’t even
know my name. I could be from Curran for all you know. I could be this ‘selfish greedy’ person you
were describing. And you’re just going to give me this without knowing a single
thing about me?”
“Well then…. What is your name?”
“Out of all of that, you think the
most important thing is my name?”
“Um, no, but —“
“Dear…. You have a lot to learn.”
They both stood there. The short
girl read over the paper as the other stared at the dirt path and how it
contrasted with the rich grass. It reminded her of the emeralds she saw in the
jewelry stores all over Caruso and how it made the ugly mixture of brown and
red in the dirt path only that much more distasteful. Her eyes stayed fixated
on the ground, even when she asked her next question.
“So you’re from Curran, I gather?”
“No. I’m from here.” She kept her
eyes on the paper as she spoke.
“Where is ‘here?’” She picked her
head up and made a gestured to the green area around her when she asked that
question.
“The name of this place is not
important,” she replied as she gave the note back to the girl. “What is important
is how you got that note.”
“What do you mean the name of this
place isn’t important?” Her brown curls were now leaping. The flame in her eyes
became a bonfire. “And does it really matter where I got this note from?”
“Yes, actually. Where you got this
note is very important. And don’t worry: I’m on your side. I’m not greedy or
selfish or a bad person. Just please don’t stay fixated on trivial details like
names and places.”
The fire in her eyes began to die
down a bit. “Sorry,” she said. “I can get a bit defensive when I’m frustrated.”
“No need for apologies. Like I
said, I’m on your side.”
A breath of silence, a vocal note
from the wind.
“All I ask is where you got that
note.”
“I found it attached to one of my
essays from English class.”
“And where do you go to school?”
“Caruso Academy.”
“Caruso Academy? Attached to one of
your papers? That’s a new one. Your teacher put it there then?”
“I asked him about it and he didn’t
answer. He said he never saw it before.”
The girl of the forest slowly
smiled and a sparkle found its way into her eye.
“Very interesting,” she answered.
“So why did you decide to come along, venture out here at such a young age? You
weren’t afraid? You trusted the author of this note?”
“Well… yeah, I guess. I mean… I
don’t know. I really didn’t think about it. It looked interesting so I came
here.” She answered the questions with hesitation in her voice.
So quick to trust.
So quick to respond.
And what if it all crumbled? What
if she found herself facing her death, or deep within the city of Curran, never
able to find her way back to Caruso safely?
“You don’t seem so sure…” the other
girl commented.
“I saw the opportunity so I took
it.”
“Alright… I can see that.” Easy to trust, and very naïve, the
native girl thought. That’s unusual for a
Caruso. But then again, nothing is usual for them either, I suppose. All of
them so incredibly diverse and unique. “Your teacher,” she continued. “Is
his last name Patterson?
She shook her head with disgust.
“No, he transferred to Curran.” She rolled her eyes. “I have Hull.”
“Hull?!” Her eyes widened with
astonishment.
“Yeah, you know him?”
“…Perhaps. Again, just more
information that’s not important.”
“Um, okay.”
“Anyway,” she diverted the
conversation and regained her sense of awareness and confidence. “I think it’s
time you’ve ventured a bit further into this place.”
The two of them continued. The
Caruso native decided to take her shoes off at one point and feel the grass
under her feet.
Tickle her toes.
Cushion her soles.
Relax her heels.
The song of her tumbling thoughts
and the vocal wind returned to her as the petite girl let her walk in silence,
allowing her to take everything in at once. It’s
so serene, she thought. Why
concentrate on the dirt path when there’s an olive carpet and growing trees
around me? Why did I ever love the city so much and why have I never truly left
the bustle?
* * *
After a few minutes, they reached
what looked like a village straight out of a fairy-tale.
Gardens.
Squirrels.
Foxes.
Butterflies.
Dandelions.
Children playing tag.
Everything hit her quickly and
potently, one after another. She grasped the environment around her in quick
bursts, even the subtlest details making the strongest impact on her.
Welcome mats in front of each door.
Wind chimes in the gardens.
Wells a few feet from each cottage.
But what seemed to stick out the
most to her was the peace that each person had with one another. People hopped
from cottage to cottage, sharing vegetables from their gardens, exchanging
friendly conversations, yet keeping a sort of peaceful harmony. There was no
commotion here. Everything fit together melodiously.
The native girl watched the outsider’s
reaction and simply grinned.
“Welcome to Nagy,” she introduced
the village to her, though not much information seemed to pass through the
curious girl’s mind as the beauty around her hit her like a bag of bricks.
“’Have you ever left your front door? Surely you’d like to see what this world
has to offer and more. Venture around. Leave home You’ll listen to wonderful
sounds, and find beautiful places to roam. We’re friendly here, dear. We love
all, even though right now we are quite small,” she quoted the note.
“It’s… beautiful,” the city girl
said in complete awe. “Not only the surroundings but also the peace. I can tell
everyone genuinely loves and cares about one another, like they’ve earned their
trust.”
“Want to hear something
interesting?” The short girl shot her a glance. “Each cottage that makes up the
village is half Caruso, half Curran.”
Half Caruso, Half Curran.
Half Caruso.
Half Curran.
Half.
Caruso.
Half.
Curran.
The girl’s hair stopped bouncing.
The flame in her eyes froze. She remained still.
“Everyone here was tired of the
fighting. Tired of the judgment. They wanted to see if they could get along
together, half Caruso, half Curran. They found out they really had no
differences at all. The views they had of each other were tired stereotypes and
propaganda. They had more in common than they thought. So they got together and
formed Nagy.
“Nagy will let anyone move in. We
just want to stop the feud. That’s why we send out messages to people. Some of
your teachers even live here, working to keep the peace. And some don’t. Some
work, I guess you could call it ‘undercover’ in Curran and Caruso. That’s why
Hull came as a surprise to me, because he does not live here.”
She dumped the entire story onto
this girl so quickly and swiftly.
But that’s how it ultimately stuck
for her.
“Those notes,” the city girl snapped
out of her daze and asked, turning her head to the girl. “Did you write those?
Then give them out to those who wish to keep this peace?”
“Of course, dear,” she answered.
“You’re incredible.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I just write
the notes and help the people find their way here.”
“All on your own?”
“Of course.”
“But… how are they getting along so
well?”
“Because they’re people, like you
and me.” She chuckled a bit, still surprised that some people don’t understand
that concept. “Want to hear a secret?” She continued. “I’m was born and spent
most of my childhood in Curran.”
She looked at the tiny girl in awe.
“But we just started getting along so well. I started valuing your words and
finding so much genius in you. So much kindness, compassion, and caring. You’re
from Curran?”
“It doesn’t matter where I’m from.
We’re all just people, aren’t we?”
She thought about this. How this
made so much sense, yet she never seemed to believe such obvious logic until
now.
“And that’s why your name never
mattered. It never mattered where you were from either. That stuff isn’t important.”
Hearing the words repeated back to
her, the girl’s blue eyes softened and became more friendly, yet wise and
authoritative. “Now you’re getting it.”
“But for the sake of my friends and
family, for the sake of your friends and family…. I must know your name. So
brave and wise at such a young age. I think someone like you deserves to live
on in some way.”
“I promise you it isn’t important.
No one here even knows my true name because I think it’s so insignificant.”
“I’m Mitzi,” the taller girl said.
The other girl sighed. “I’m
Christie. My parents made sure that something fantastic, wise, and impossible
found its way into my name, so they made sure to include Christ. The rest was
their imagination.”
“Christie…” Mitzi repeated, “I’ll
have to remember that name. The name of a brave, clever girl who opened my eyes
to the truth in such a short amount of time.”
Mitzi carried the information with
her the rest of her life. The village of Nagy never left her as word began to
spread and the hate began to dissolve.
Years passed, and then Mitzi found
herself in the Nagy Hospital one day, cradling her first-born child on the
first of June.
“Christie,” she said to her
husband. “That will be her name. Just like the girl who showed me Nagy and lead
the revolution in peace.”
